War Drums
by Sam M. Holmes
Summary: SongFic. The Master has finally won or has he? Warning: Suicide and Violence. Please R&R.


Hey y'all! I have been feeling quite under the weather as of late and my laptop broke… So… updates will take awhile. On the upside, I got to use a desktop for around an hour and decided to leave you all with this. Something I thought about while listening to my IPod.

Song: Counting Bodies Like Sheep (To The Rhythm of the War Drums) by Perfect Circle

I don't own Doctor Who

War Drums

He pulled away, rage sated. His hands shook, knife slipping from bloody fingers. Flinching, he let it clatter to the ground.

It was over.

At last.

_Safe from pain ._

The Master breathed through his nose. His heartbeats rocketed against his chest in perfect tandum. He couldn't believe it was over. Finally over. He let out a choked smile, lungs heaving with adrenalin.

_And truth and choice…_

The Doctor lay dead. His eyes were closed, but his mouth hung open, slack jawed. His loose, floppy hair that he was so fond of was soaked in his own blood. There was a long gash across his chest. That's how you killed a Time Lord. First one heart, through the spinal cord, and then into the other. No regeneration, no returning. His bowtie hung limply at his neck.

_And other poison devils._

The Master stumbled back, joy overfilling him. He didn't watch where he was going. His heel hit another body that littered the floor. That human. He was slumped to the side, gasping for breath. The Master had stabbed him too. Blood pumped through the man's thin fingers. He was a nurse, but he couldn't save himself. The Master fell over on top of him. The man screamed in pain. The Master's eyes widened, and he shook his head firmly.

"Shh…" The Master climbed off of him, kneeling next to his face. The man looked up at him, blood falling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were filled with hate, sorrow, betrayal. The Master almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

_Go back to sleep._

"Relax now. It's over, human. You have lost," The Master grinned wildly, manically.

"A… Amy…" the man cried. He coughed, lungs rattling in his chest. "D… Doct…"

"He's dead," The Master laughed. He bent down, lips touching the man's ears. "I win."

"N… no…"

"Go back to sleep." Slowly, the Master let his hands encircle the man's thin throat. The man couldn't fight back, gasping in pain. Then faster than anything terrestrial, the Master twisted his hands, breaking the man's neck. "Shh…" The man fell limp with a sick crack. "I gave you pity, human. Your savior was not so lucky." The Master rose, wiping his hands on his robes. The black hid the blood. The Master frowned. Carefully, he dipped a finger into the human's blood. With a swipe, he spread it on his cheeks.

War paint.

_To the rhythm of the war drums…_

The drums hadn't stopped.

They were stronger than ever before.

They resonated from deep within him, echoing in the confines of his mind.

The Doctor had called them his madness.

How wrong he was.

_Counting bodies like sheep…_

There were four bodies. The Doctor, fixer of people. The Wife, criminal in her own right. The Red-Head, brave as any warrior. And the Nurse, fallen from his pedestal. Each dead. How they had screamed. How they had begged. He had saved the Doctor for last.

_I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and all your demons._

The Master stood before his subjects, unmoving, but loyal to him. He spread his arms, letting the black cloak billow around him. And then he screamed. It was full of pain and joy and anguish. Triumphant.

They had called him mad.

They had called him a disease.

The Master knew better. He was the king.

_I'll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason._

They bowed to him now.

_I'll be the one to protect you from your enemies and your choices, son._

The Master returned to the Doctor, hovering over him like a shadow. A wide, terrible grin split his face in two. He shook harder now. He knelt down, touching his forehead to his once friend. After death, a Time Lord kept his memories for a short while. The Master wanted them.

_They're one in the same._

Sitting in the red grass.

Back to back.

Textbooks open.

"Koschei, what's the answer to this problem?"

"You're going to fail again, Theta."

But he had helped him.

_I must isolate you._

The Master drew back, tears fresh in his eyes.

So he had remembered.

The drums continued, tainting the memory. Like ink to water.

_Isolate and save you from yourself._

The Master retrieved his silver knife. He held it in his palms, watching the still form of the Doctor. One hand snaked out, wrapping its hand in the Doctor's soft hair. Theta's hair. More than ever, this regeneration reminded the Master of those days of the academy. A joker. A dreamer. A friend. The Master's triumph faded.

What had he done?

The drums continued.

The Master let out a sob, cradling the knife to his chest.

Is this how the Doctor felt after he had died? Died in his arms?

_Don't fret, precious, I'm here._

The Master saw himself. He was straddling the Doctor, stabbing him viciously. His knife slid across his chest like butter. The Doctor's screams of agony died down.

The Master felt sick.

Clutching the knife to his chest, he fell back, leaning against a large marble wall. Tears raced down his face. He used the sleeve of his robe, trying to rub off the blood.

War paint.

War drums.

_Go back to sleep._

The Master raised the blade to his eyes, seeing his reflection glint mockingly at him.

Hands stained with the blood of his only friend.

_Go back to sleep._

The Master trembled.

He was mad.

The drums.

Wouldn't.

Stop.

_Sleep._

It took less than a few seconds.

The Last of the Time Lords dropped his hands, focusing on draining his energy.

No regeneration.

No returning.

_Sleep._

The Time Lords became extinct.

Two families lost their children on Earth.

The drums had stopped, knife dripping with blood.

_Sleep._

The Heroes of Earth were dead.

* * *

Well… that was depressing… Angst! Please R&R. Thanks!

SMH


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